The Ladybird's Songs

Don't wake me up from sleep 
To disturb the magic chime I hear 

Crimson dash of red wine 
Thirstily defined from a distance  

Senses eyes wide open on observation 
I conspire to the school of thought 

Of the alluring imploding beauty 
The red rose flower, bright on a sunny day 

Immersed in the rapture of emotions 
Sending observers sitting up straight 

To hear what sounds of music jazz 
Serenading melodies are sung with groove 

From the red lips of a sound-ful
Soulful angel singing harmony  

Pouts a bit, smiles a lot, eyes do too 
Graced with a wonderful spirit 

Don't wake me up from sleep 
I hear the ladybird's songs 

She is with that red colour bright 
I hear the ladybird's songs 

Don't wake me up from sleep 
To disturb the magic chime I hear 


In support of the: New Morning Arts Cafe' Theatre & Creative Centre 

The confused gods

The gods are very confused 
And have been since the dawn of time 

Not sure whether to be of this earth 
Or of  heaven or another's realm  

To mind their own business 
Or which actions to take in interfering  

The gods are just this confused 
In picking an image as theirs, as them 

This is what happens when one has 
Too many options that it hinders, what role to play 

In characters defined, what grounds  
To stand on, in this passage of time running 

Mortality stops us from over lamenting 
Time is somewhat of the essence with decay 

But for the gods, easy with time 
Left feeling jealous of us mortals 

Who would have thought death 
Would be an envy, they would want to have 

The gods are just very confused 
This has been from the dawn of time 

The funny thing is, they are still around 
The gods, the gods, the gods of decadence 

A cacophony of life

The clouds, the blue sky 

The trees, the wind, the sun shine 

An outburst of life 

A blue bird in a painting

A bird in a painting 
A bird on a blue tree 

A bird on a tree 
A bird sat on a branch in a tree 

A bird on a tree singing 
A blue bird on a blue tree 

A bird on a tree resting 
A blue sky, a bird in blue, as blue  

A blue bird on a blue tree 
A blue sky, blue bird, blue tree in a painting 

A bird in a blue abstract sketch  
A blue bird on a tree in a portrait   

It doesn't have to always be with preach 
Just so thought provoking in lecture 

But an underlining current of stream 
Would always flow regardless  

Such is the meaning of life 
A blue bird, in a painting 

Art work by Diana McAlister 

Origami; maps on pages

Paper from tree stand 

Images of our structures 

Folded as an item 

As a sculpture

Doors and drawers as gate ways  
Into worlds with options 

I would shut my eyes to 
Keep from seeing as baring witness 

My mind would opt out from partaking 
A phrase set as escape clause 

Strings hold life like puppet play 
Attached to the handle of the drawer's grip 

And for each pull as command 
The status of I, move as puppet play 

I am as, Leonardo Da Vinci carved me 
Waiting on God to breathe life in me 

I am as surrealism from your imagination 
Drawn up by Salvador Dali  in dream state

Yet as I stand as empty drawers 
All t' pass folded and unfolded, are left en-trigged 

Sigmund Freud left sat perplexed 
Looking for my childhood story to define me 

Ink-less Pen

Dry ambitions, views 

Empty dreams, rainless lands, trees  

Writers block, desert 

Creative Minds

A great idea 

Is making something ordinary 

Beautifully unique 

#1001 Friary Friary Stars Bright

Twinkle my star bright 

Fairy fairy star make wish 

And see it come true  

St. Catherine At Court

Clifton will always be of royal
The host of Bristol; oh Britania

Like the Queen's finest
Jewellery crowned on the hill

Oh grace Alexandria of old Greek 
King Costus and Queen Sabinella 

Today your very own sits 
On the hills of Clifton, sighting view 

At assemble with Wills memorial 
If there was a building, to stand as royal, oh hail

Oh saint of Catherine I am in your court 
Do you know your essence; Joan of Arc named you

Office windows and office doors revolving
In comes, out goes; your crusade to venture 

Pitched in Clifton, Britania oh glory St. Catherine  
To be the crown on the hill that stands 

Drying Out Paint Strokes

Painted promises 
Wait until the paint dries out 
Before picking up this piece 


I know, no such man  
Who holds holly his work in progress 
And opens up his door, gladly 


To have spectators, swamp in 
As he sets out the revelations 
Of his mind in wonder process 


The critics would have their day
But not now, while I am in the process
With epiphany at my beck and call


Occupied signs on doors
Means an engagement of a kind
Do not disturb, wait until paints do dry out 


At the galleries, of course feel free  
Hanged on white walls, as observers wish 
With no paint palette, and mess on floors  


Clinically clean to help one, zone in 
In to what makes, thee deservedly a critic 
And ponder why a stroke, looks so out of place 


But for now, professor 
Allow paint strokes to dry on canvas 
I am still wearing my beret, with work cloths 

A Notion of Satire 1 - 3

#Monkey chop banana
What is funny about that
To make a song, and laugh out loud...lol

I will bench press hard, gym membership 
Until I find reason, solid "take a picture"
To hold pose in mid air to salivate, macho

Have you not heard, the joy to have
Winnie the pooh, is coming to town
And with that, all let loose of hold, crazy

Why are bears given a soft profile
With false ownership of honey
While the makers are left on wishful relish

In the back room watching
Pretenders take ovation stands, curtains
In Alaska, an alarm is raised Caution "a bear is in town"

Will a catholic truly drink and eat
In the literal sense, the body and blood of Christ
How barbaric that sounds, in notions to have

But one has to, have faith," spider-man, batman and mermaids"
In the true sense, that it is so, "to the rescue"
To give credence value, in doing so, as faith

#Monkey chop banana
What is so funny about that
To make a song and laugh out loud..lol 

Perfection of Art

An artist would never call a master piece perfect 
Guess that is why death adds  more value 
For the biggest critique is finally put to rest 


Much in a rush to hang or publish, I am not done yet 
Hold on, a little tweak here said Brown Ford Madox 
A little tweak there, a little, a little, a little more for the "Hayfield" 


And with each time seen in new light 
A little more, a little more, tweak here 
Have a little tweak there 


How can one call this a masterpiece 
Oh no, no, no, no, a little tweak here is needed indeed
A' w'h each time, in new light, a little more, a little more


Guess that is why, death adds more value 
With the put down to rest of the biggest critique 
A little more here, a little more tweak, tweak, tweak

He haunts the work, each time in new light
Adjusting verses, ryhmes and brush strokes
To tweak, tweak to perfection, old Ford Brown does

Painting by Ford Madox Brown

Shadows on the wall

Some times I find myself  in that zone of demolish thought  
Caught between entangled nets of confusion, abstract 
Between light, shadows and the objects they project 


Sometimes it is just ordinary entities, they portray 
Like a hand rabbit projected on walls 
Sometimes it is the others, more scary and wary 


That gives fright on walls in the finest hour of dawn 
Like seeing a shape of a man in the middle of the night 
Stood in the middle of one's bedding space 


Between sleep and wake, resolutions of know 
Illusion of thoughts, that sends shivers 
Delusion of grungier, on what fright they bare 


Some say t' day a' its hills, a' what tomorrow brings 
Holds excepts of our anxiety and fear, transformed in shades
It is these that travel through t' winds in shadows on the walls 

And appear in our dreams 
Shadows on the wall 
I just saw a shadow on the wall 

The contract

This is t' contract of relations, relative to knowing 
I have come to the realisation, to the know 
That this here, is a contract of negotiation, on balance  


Where goal posts are never 
Positioned on permanent spots 
And the sway of the bowl of fulfilment  


That which carries content of liquid formations 
Is kept at a constant swing to maintain balance 
For solids are made brittle in endurance of bonds  


Do not look out to be favoured by events 
Not always,  at all times in having a way with 
This is t' conditions of grounds, made ready to build on 


As intended based on the subject of negotiations
Compromises made prominent to attention on balance 
And courtship and friendship is to hold this as basic 


I have come to realise, in part, in ways 
That in forms in bonds formed, no one is to take spoils
Winning all every-time on roulette tables 


Not if for the enrichment wished for 
Is to be graced with the fortitude of longevity 
And thus, not a flash in the pan, upon pacts signed


This is a contract of understanding  
On what relationship's balance are  to be formed on 
Say I do, say I, to roll up one's sleeves and engage


This is the contract of relations 
I have come to the realization, on centered mind 
That this here, is a contract of negotiation 

Murder in the village

Agatha Christie  
Wrote a letter to Poirot 
There has been a murder, in the village 


Serve your request to investigate 
Find out who done it, Sir, who done it 
And bring the fellow to justice, Sir 


Agatha Christie 
Opened a page of possible suspect, who done it 
Motives plastered on all at present  


Even the village priest 
Has to answer, missing an alibi    
Where were you last night, I say who done it 


Where were you between 
The hours of 10pm and dawn 
God can not be used, as an alibi, who done it 


He just announced 
He was in the presences of God 
When the murder took place, who done it 


Agatha christie 
Wrote a letter to Poirot
To have him find out, who done it 


Was it the husband, the wife, who done it 
The son or t' daughter, t' shopkeeper or the priest  
Who had more to gain from this murder 


Poirot  to investigate, who done it 
Agatha Christie wrote a letter to Poirot  
Justice justice be served, leave no stone unturned  

Except for mine 
There are somethings that should be left alone 
You can not go questioning the author, who done it  

Holding a candlelight vigil

Should I hold a candlelight on vigil  
Mark on calenders on count down  
Push the sun with my bare hands  


From the east to the west  
So the sun will rise  
And set in a hurry, in a hurry 


Build green houses, then feed seeds, relentless 
Fertilizers, irrigation, like a junky with needles
So they germinate and blossom in a hist  


I would double my steps fast, quick enough  
For the cheater to be left chasing  
My shadows in savannah's plains  


Should I hold a candlelight on vigil  
Seek audience of the King 
To announce with intent  


Dare my naked neck on the butcher's table  
As far as I would go on will, standing my ground   
To be of honour, by my words of announce  


Would I be true in words authored  
Would my announce be made prophecy of  
And on this subject, be myself an oracle 


Should I hold a candlelight on vigil 
Hold my need, when nature calls 
As thus not to miss the first glance of glimpse 


And starve sleep in night corridors 
With patience lost of anxiety wait 
Like a sneeze with force, none can hold back 


And windows too, feel pressured 
As I invade their personal space 
One too many a time on lookout 


Should I hold candlelight on vigil  
 A thousand outcomes 
Could be made of this venture 


What would your last words authored be  
To have you stand on ownership 
To my treasured candle vigil  

Should I hold a candle on vigil   


What would prosperity, romance, success, aspirations, job, protest 
What would birth, death, joy, happiness, expectation, celebration  
What would voyage, heartbreak, arrivals, departure, results  


What would, what would, what would stand 


A thousand outcomes, could become of thus 
Should I hold a candle on vigil ....................
Fill in the gaps to claim ownership, of this vigil 

Urn Holds Flowers

Urn holds flowers; joy   

Send me, love, hangs, kisses  

Celebrations wish

Over Crowded Cakes

Fact is I was laid, an egg today, some time past   
That came before the chicken and egg race
Parables solved, I am that good, with parables  


Don't worry for reasons,  that is another story  
To tell, another time, on once upon a time  
Today I am blowing candles 


Laid or was it hatched, as an egg today 
I did be fast, trust me, furiously fast 
To have made it to the egg to fertilize


So I guess there was the "birds and bees"
The run before the egg, or was it the swim
Going into a shock release; seriously confusing this is


Any ways as I was saying 
So win win, winner takes all 
No splits into twins or a kind, of a kind 


I sat in nest as the king of water's world 
For the nine turns in calender 
Before making an entry, with screams 


Oh hail the one, yes for I am the one 
On this day born, with this life to live 
And life stories to add; of course with drama


Lets not go into details 
Throw proverbs in for the measure
To hold eye lashes from blushing 


So anyway cakes and candles  
I will blow just the one, if you don't mind
For is with one life I live 


Don't go overcrowding my cake 
Asking me of age count "silly you"
I am  analog, retro, this is before digital

Mystery and Magic

Blankety blank, doors goes bang  

Mystery lurks behind

Ah, bang goes rabbits! 

Edited by: Ramesh Sood